


Shattered

by lostgirl240



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Anxiety, F/M, I usually hate angst but it's Jessica Jones what can I do?, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, In Public, Jessica Jones is truly messed up, Killgrave is dead but is discussed a lot, Matt Murdock plays piano, May add tags later, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Defenders, References to Depression, Slow Burn, but post s1 of JJ and s2 of DD, graphic description of canon violence, i don't know where i am going with this, other characters are mentioned but are not important enough to be tagged yet, there's a subway station involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13814481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostgirl240/pseuds/lostgirl240
Summary: Jessica is having a hard time handling the events of season one, but a handsome stranger might help her - even if he's blind and doesn't know she's there.*Rating for graphic description of violence*I don't really know where I'm going with this one, so title, summary, and tags may change





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I have to admit, I don't write much (or at all), but there are just not enough of Darejones fics out there so I just had to make my contribution. The first chapter is a bit short, but it felt right to end it there, future chapters might be longer.  
> I hope you like it!  
> Sorry in advance.

She’d wanted it to stop - all that death and the destruction around her, the ruined lives, the chaos, the pain. She’d wanted _him_ to stop. And she stopped him. She stopped him with her bare hands.

In the end, it was easy, breaking his neck. All she had to do was _twist_ and then there was that sickening snap of his bones, crushing under her fingers. Less than a second to make his eyes go from desperate fear to absolute nothing. All the booze in the world can’t make her forget that goddamn sound - that gross, loud crunch that freezes the blood in her veins - but she’s sure as hell gonna fucking try. When she released her hold on him he dropped like a bag of trash, his head almost disconnected from his body, held in place by nothing but skin. She smelled his piss as he peed himself. Here’s the cold, hard truth no one wants to know - you look pathetic when you die.

At first, Jessica was relieved: it was finally over. No one else is going to die because of her, no one else has to suffer. She was free, and so was every other person in New York. Hell, in the world, even. Killgrave’s dead and he can’t hurt anyone else, ever again. She’s put an end to it, she killed him, just like she promised Hope that she would.

But she forgot, she forgot what happens next. Jessica has been through this before, after all - she should have known that surviving is a nightmare you don’t get to wake up from. You have to live it, again and again, in a never ending cycle of misery.  
Because now… now she has nothing to focus on but the horror of everything that’s happened. Nothing she can do to escape the guilt that is consuming her whole: Reva, the Shlottmans, Ruben, Albert and Louise, even Detective Clemons - that wasn’t killed by Killgrave, but still died because of her. All the people that she didn’t know, and probably the dozens more she didn’t know about - everyone that died as a collateral damage of a deranged man’s obsession of her. A huge part of her has become a black, bottomless pit with every single one of them inside it, trying to drag the rest of her in.

In her sleep she sees hands being grinded, hears the gunshots, smells burnt human flesh. When she wakes up, it’s even worse. She can’t remember how to breathe anymore. Every second is torture - a fresh new terror right before her eyes.

And if the guilt isn’t enough, there’s also this paralyzing fear, this terrible, irrational worry that the son of a bitch survived somehow, again. That she’s gonna see him across the street, or behind a door, or in an Italian restaurant. He haunts her almost as much as his victims - more than once she got sick to her stomach remembering his maniac declaration of love, mad look in his eyes and a bag with Ruben’s head in his hands.

It’s then Jessica tries to remember the stillness of his body, the blankness in his eyes, the angle of his neck - and knows, without a shred of doubt, that he's gone in a very permanent way. It helps her relax, sometimes, but it _always_ reminds her of one, last, ugly thing: she’s a disgusting piece of shit. A murderer.  
He deserved to die, of that much she’s sure - knowing that she prevented countless more deaths by what she did on those docks is one of the only things that bring her comfort these days. But he was still a person (a crappy fucking excuse of one, but a person nonetheless) and she killed him. Not only that - it felt _good_. She now has the blood of not one, but two people on her hands. With Reva she wasn’t in control, that much is true, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that she did it. She was, however, very much in control when she killed Killgrave, and she can’t even bring herself to be ashamed of that. What does that make her? A goddamn monster.

She has a constant, awful _weight_ on her chest, that suffocates her, quickens her pulse, squeezes her heart - and it hurts, it hurts so bad she can barely get out of bed.

And so she drinks. She drinks more than she ever had. It doesn’t make the memories go away, but at least it makes them somewhat fuzzy, and the weight on her chest lessens just enough to almost catch every other breath.

It’s after three a.m when she’s been kicked out of every bar in Hell’s Kitchen, and goes to the closest subway station with the intention to get on the first train that’ll take her anywhere that provides alcohol (She’s fairly drunk, but not nearly enough - yet another downside of her powers). Only, as she climbs down the stairs, instead of the sound of railways and homeless people snoring, she hears the very unexpected, growing echo of a piano.

Both of her eyebrows rise of their own accord.

“What the fuck?”

By the time she’s reached the bottom, the music is loud and clear. Beautiful, soulful melody drowning out the noises of the city. It takes her less than a second to spot the black piano in the back of the entrance hall - right across the ticket machines. Even less that to notice the person playing it. He was around her age, maybe a bit older. His dark hair slightly ruffled, like he just got out of bed… maybe he did, given the time of night. Couldn’t sleep?  
He was wearing a very tight t-shirt - which she was not complaining about, mind you - and round, red sunglasses. Blind, then. His lips were pursed in deep concentration, brow furrowed, and Jessica could almost see his heart pouring into the keys. He was, in fact, very attractive. But strangely, she didn’t care. She was just enraptured by the music.

Very quietly, so he wouldn’t sense her there, she walked further into the station and leaned against a wall far away from him but with a direct view, and listened to him play.

The music was… beyond description. Soft, but powerful, and full of everything she’s ever lost - peace, purpose, hope. Every note reached that raging pit inside of her and calmed the demons clawing out. When she closed her eyes to listen, it wasn’t her abuser that she saw against her eyelids - it was her dad, coming home from work with grease on his hands and a smile on his face. It was her mom, dancing to rock music in the living room. It was her brother, sound asleep in front of the TV. It was Trish, talking passionately about politics and social justice. It was _home_.

He played for hours. He didn’t stop, and she didn’t leave. She let herself be in it, felt her body lose some of its tension, let the sounds push away everything she hasn’t been able to. Finally, nearing 6 a.m, the station started to fill, and the blind man left.

On her way home, for the first time in a very long time, she felt like she could breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! Time for apologies.
> 
> First, I'm sorry to any Americans out there (New Yorkers in particular) if I butchered either your language or subway system. My English is self taught and Google was absolutely no help with fact checking about subways.
> 
> Second, I think I haven't written anything since I was 15 years old and this really might be terrible and I have no way of knowing, so criticism is welcome as long as you're kind about it.
> 
> Third, obviously, I've never posted here before, so if I have made spacing mistakes or typos, please tell me and I'll correct them.
> 
> Fourth, I might not continue this if there isn't much interest, because like I said, I don't usually write, so I'm sorry if I leave you hanging.
> 
> I actually thought that maybe I could get on Matt's POV next chapter - because obviously, he DOES know she's there, and, you know, I think he's intrigued. What do you think?
> 
> Give me your thoughts!


End file.
